Author's Note: Thank you so much, Danni, for reviewing! I'm so pleased you liked the first chapter.

Chapter 2: Demons

Will Graham rolled over in his bed and groaned. He was not ready to wake up yet. He willed his body to go back to sleep but something, some nagging thought kept tugging at his fevered mind. Was he supposed to be somewhere? He cracked one eye open to look at the clock. It was almost one pm. The sunlight beaming through the edges of the curtains blinded him and he snapped his eye closed again. Graham swallowed and grimaced at the sour taste and felt as if his throat were on fire. His head caused him an equal amount of agony, he felt as if it were in a vice grip being squeezed to a pulp. He groaned again, rolled onto his back, and placed his arm over his eyes.

'Shit,' he thought as he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to have been at FBI headquarters for a meeting with the new chief of Behavioral Sciences at ten this morning. 'Oh, damn, what a shame I missed it,' he thought sarcastically. He chuckled to himself and a bolt of pain ripped through his head.

Graham attempted to remember what had been the excuse he had used last night to begin drinking and he was unable to. He knew his excuses were becoming thinner and thinner. Some of his more recent excuses for his binges included the fact that there was nothing on T.V. or that he had stubbed his toe or that he couldn't find the clippers to go out and trim the hedge. God only knew what his excuse last night had been.

Graham sighed and wished for at least the hundredth time in the last twenty four hours that he would die. He usually repeated this same wish approximately one hundred times every day. He longed for different days, days when he had been happy and complete, if not necessarily carefree. In a sudden moment of weakness, he caught himself reviewing the events of the last fifteen years. His injuries at the hands of the last two serial killers he'd caught, the media frenzy that surrounded his family immediately after the death of the 'Tooth Fairy', causing their pain and suffering to be played out under public scrutiny, his final retirement from the FBI, the counseling for traumatized Josh, the counseling for he and Molly to try and keep their marriage intact, his recurrent nightmares about human monsters that lurked through the dead of night, the pain killers that he washed down with glass after glass of alcohol, used at first to deaden only his physical pain and finally to deaden his emotional pain as well, and finally, Molly's inability to cope any longer with him or their circumstances and her subsequent departure with young Josh. Graham had not seen either Molly or his son in almost six years, they both refused to have anything to do with him.

His tongue snaked out and ran across his dry, cracked lips. He realized he was thirsty. Graham heard his stomach rumble and wondered when the last time was he had eaten. His throbbing head couldn't tell him. He supposed he had better get up, take some aspirin, hobble out to the kitchen and see if he could find anything that even remotely resembled food.

"Fuck it," Graham croaked. That required more energy than he was willing to devote at that moment. He pulled the sheet up over his face, rolled over, and began to breath heavy as he already drifted into light sleep.

Will Graham did not like to be awake. The present carried too many painful memories and reminders of the past, although he worked hard to deaden his pain through prescription drugs and alcohol. However, most of the time he did not like to be asleep either for sleep held his demons, the inner demons he had carried with him for years now, a price of his imagination and a price of his former career as a special agent of the FBI.

Before he drifted off into deeper sleep, his brain pondered the possible reasons his presence had been requested at a meeting at the FBI. The rookie agent who had called and told him he had better be there refused to give him any information as to the reason for the meeting and what might be expected of him. The phone call had left a bad taste in Graham's mouth (or was that the alcohol) for he disliked the FBI, he disliked rookies, and most importantly, he disliked being told what to do.

A short time later, Graham was brought out of his slumber by an irritatingly insistent noise. He rolled over on his back, pulled the sheet off his face, and sat up quickly in the surprised manner of one who has been suddenly roused from a deep sleep. Another bolt of lightning shot through his head. He clutched it in both hands and groaned. He rubbed his eyes and blinked as they adjusted to the light. Graham realized it was the doorbell he was hearing. The doorbell had awakened him and it was being pressed repeatedly about every two seconds, causing his head to throb incessantly.

Grumbling, Graham placed his feet on the floor and stood up. His legs threatened to buckle, but he held his stance. His head flared and his vision swam for a moment. He walked unsteadily out of his room and staggered to the front door.

"Goddammit," he called as he fumbled with the locks and deadbolt. "This had better be good, like a gorgeous naked woman wanting to screw me or something. I swear to God.." He trailed off as he swung the door open and was greeted by a seemingly familiar face, although he could not immediately place it.

"Good afternoon, Agent Graham," a slight southern drawl met his ears. "I'm terribly sorry if I have disturbed you. I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time since you missed the meeting this morning?" She paused for a moment and extended her hand. "I'm special agent Clarice Starling with the FBI."



To Be Continued. Please review!!